The Decision to Start
I was a little late to the smoking weed game. When I was 14 and 15, I dated a guy who smoked and I was highly against it. I didn’t really know anything about it at the time, and lumped it in with other drugs. In fact, I don’t even think I knew “pot,” “weed,” and “marijuana” were all the same thing. I was just ignorant to that whole world.
When I was 16, I decided I wanted to try smoking. I was a good kid. I never really got into trouble, I’d never even had detention at school. I had, however, had sex at this point, and had drank maybe about three beers. I was getting a taste of the other side and I liked it.
I wanted to smoke weed, but I had no idea how to do this or where to get it. I wasn’t dating that smoker guy anymore. I was not in the Popular Cool Kids Crowd, and the kids I hung out with did not smoke weed.
When I was 17, the opportunity finally arose.
The First Time I Smoked
The first time I smoked weed it was with a guy named Steve. He was the same age as me and in my grade at school. We messed around a little. I can’t even remember his last name now.
What I remember most about smoking for the first time was how much it hurt my throat. I had never smoked cigarettes before, so this was my first time smoking anything, and I was shocked at how much it burned. That would later go away, of course.
We smoked and I watched him play Grand Theft Auto – it was my first time seeing that game – and I waited for it to hit me, but it didn’t.
They say some people don’t get high the first time and I was one of those people. It took maybe four or five times for me.
The First Time I Got High
At 17, I was finally coming into my own after being a shy loner for most of junior high and high school. And I finally made friends with one person in the Popular Cool Kids Crowd, Tiffany. She was my in.
One day, Tiffany asked me for a ride home from school. Then she asked a couple more times. Then one day she invited me to hang out.
Tiffany did not care that I was not cool, or that it might not look great for her that she was hanging out with me. She would hang out with whomever she liked, and that was that.
My first time smoking weed was with Steve, but the next half dozen or so times were with Tiffany. We smoked at other kids houses, and I think at her house – her parents were much more lenient than mine. It would be at least a year before I attempted smoking at my own house, in the basement and out windows.
The first time I got high we were at a friend of hers. The house was a nasty shade of pink. I was sitting on the couch in between her and someone else and I just remember thinking if I wanted to get off the couch I would be unable to. I was finally high.
Becoming a Regular Toker
I was curious about weed at 16. I started smoking at 17. And I started smoking regularly at 18, when I got to college.
I wasn’t the most social person, if that isn’t clear yet. Although Tiffany helped me break out of my shell some, I still struggled to make friends when I got to college. I didn’t smoke or drink anything for the first couple of weeks.
Finally, someone in my dorm smoked weed and I was able to participate. I realized how social smoking was, how it could get me into certain crowds, with nice people I actually wanted to spend time with.
The smokers just navigated towards each other. They truly had their own community, and I felt like I’d finally found my place. It wasn’t weird or forced or awkward to hang out with these people. I just belonged.
I also found that as a female, it was much, much easier for me to seamlessly move into smoking circles and not look like a mooch – it was just accepted that girls would get the free weed and drinks. This was convenient for me as someone who didn’t yet have the solid connections to get those things on my own.
It took awhile for me to get the hang of the world of smoking. I eventually learned who the dealers were, so I had someone to buy off of and didn’t have to rely on the kindness of others, but I still didn’t own a piece and didn’t know how to roll blunts or joints (which I continue to be bad it, in full disclosure).
When I knew where to buy the weed I still needed to find someone with a piece who I could smoke with. They would hand me the bowl or bong and I would hand it back to them, telling them to pack it. “It’s your weed.” “It’s your bowl.” I didn’t want to admit I didn’t know how to pack a bowl.
(If you don’t know how to pack a bowl, you just break up the weed into smaller pieces and remove any stems or seeds and you put it in the bowl. That’s it.)
Eventually I knew how to smoke weed, where to get weed, and I bought my own bowl, which I could pack myself. I didn’t even have to smoke with anyone else if I didn’t want to, which was nice.
But I couldn’t have imagined how this new skill of mine, knowing how to smoke weed, would set the tone for an infinite number of both solo and social smoking sessions in the decades to come.